


In Cars

by lavender_and_roses



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: M/M, Song Lyrics, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_and_roses/pseuds/lavender_and_roses
Summary: Paul and Art's secret life-long love affair is made public, and a pact made long ago is put into practice. Confessions are made, heart-to-heart talks are had and lots of time is spent (sings) In Caarrrrs.Thank you to the group Citizens for Boysenberry Jam for beta-ing.This is a work of fiction. This story is not based on real events. I do not know Paul Simon or Art Garfunkel and I do not wish to harm or offend them in any way. I just wanted to tell an interesting story.Warning: it's really, really, really, really sad. You've been warned.





	In Cars

A silhouette of a man appeared in the car mirror. The figure crossed the empty street, zigzagged around parked cars and then with a short leap, alighted onto the sidewalk. Paul watched him approach, and was surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes. After all these years, here he was...in this place, doing this thing, waiting for this person. 

And after all these years, he couldn’t believe this person actually showed up. But there he was. He moved behind Paul’s car and made his way to the passenger side. The door opened, and a man slid into the seat.

“Paul,” the man said, acknowledging his companion. 

“Art,” Paul replied in the same tone.

They looked each other over carefully. They had both aged so much since they had seen each other last. It seemed surreal that now they were both 77 years old. The two of them had spent a few lifetimes together and a few apart. This was the first time they had been face-to-face in seven years. Both of them silently waited for the other to speak, or reveal emotion in some kind of way. They each wanted the other to set the tone. It was Paul who cracked first.

Art watched as those deep brown eyes suddenly glistened and tears spilled out. Paul quickly wiped his eyes, embarrassed, but then looked back up at Art.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he finally said, looking away and trying to get his tears under control. It was startling. Art hadn’t seen Paul this vulnerable in decades.

“I...I’m so glad you’re here,” Paul said as his relief poured out in the form of few more stray tears. Art was touched, albeit a bit uncomfortable. He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“Of course I’m here. I promised, didn’t I?” he said.

Paul smiled sadly. “Yes, well, that was 50 years ago,” he replied.

Art leaned toward him and said seriously, “You know I always keep my promises.”

Paul smiled again and nodded. He seemed more frail, and Art couldn’t decide if it was age or the circumstances they found themselves in.

“You know, I can’t believe it finally happened,” Art said with a tone of wonder. His voice was lower and rougher than it used to be. “At this point, I didn’t think it ever would,” he added.

Paul licked his lips as he pulled himself together. “I didn’t even look at it. My phone started to buzz and vibrate so much that it fell off the table. There were press in my driveway. I was down at my studio, and I just knew...I just knew that my life was on fire. I took an old maintenance truck and snuck out the back entrance. Didn’t even say goodbye to Edie,” he said. His voice was also lower and rougher than it had ever been, and now it cracked with emotion.

Art wanted to say that Edie would understand, but he didn’t know her well enough to assume that. She probably wouldn't.

They both looked out the car window to the alley in front of them. An empty Queens residential neighborhood was neatly laid out before them, on what would be a normal winter day. 

“I was in my den when I heard it,” Art said sadly. “I didn't say anything about it to anyone. I sent a simple text to James, kissed Kim, hugged Beau and casually announced I was going for a walk.”

“I threw my Blackberry in the lobby trash and just walked away,” Art added. “But it couldn't have been long before they got the news. I could hear them the next street over, shouting my name and looking for me.”

“But you weren’t followed?” Paul asked.

“No, I made sure of it. I took a taxi in the opposite direction, got out, took another taxi to the train station and then walked here,” Art said. Paul nodded his approval.

“I drove the truck to a storage locker where I keep this car, and I swapped vehicles,” Paul explained as he stroked the car’s dash. “I never drive her anymore, but I couldn’t get rid of her, just in case one day I’d be feeling nostalgic.”

Art looked around the car’s interior. They were in a vintage Sunbeam Alpine, nearly identical to the one that Paul had brought back with him from England in the early 60s. How many good times they’d had in that car. It was in that car, late at night, that they’d talked in the dark about their dreams, their feelings and their newfound fame. They had told each other so much in that car, and everything was true.

“All we need is some music,” Art quipped. He saw Paul’s eyes light up.

“Oh! Open the glovebox,” Paul said excitedly. Art did so, and hidden behind the vintage glovebox door was a high-tech stereo system. A collection of CDs were off to the side. Art pulled them out.

“Ah, this is great!” Art exclaimed. “Let’s see...the Everly Brothers, the Beatles, James Taylor...oh, and the Moonglows, the Penguins, the Orioles and… fuck you. The Five Satins. You did that on purpose.” Paul let out a laugh.

“And no Bridge Over Troubled Water in sight, thank God,” Art remarked. Paul nodded in agreement. The last thing he needed to hear now was Cecelia for the ten-thousandth time. This was something that only the two of them could really understand and admit to each other.

“There is one more down there,” Paul shyly pointed out. Art looked again and reached in, pulling out an album he had never seen before. He retrieved a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and switched them with his regular pair.

“Think Too Much, the lost Simon and Garfunkel album,” Art read. Then it was his turn to tear up. “Is this...is this really?”

Paul nervously drummed the steering wheel. “Yes,” he said in a weary voice. “I kept it. I never really wiped it. It’s time the world hears it.”

Art opened the case and looked inside. There was a dedication.

“To my dear Artie,” he read slowly. “I have so many regrets, and I don’t want this to be one of them. I’m so sorry. May the world remember us for our music and for the love we had for each other. Yours always, Paul.”

Art fell forward and hugged his knees, his back heaving with each sob that came out of him. 

Paul shifted in his seat. Tears were welling up in his eyes again, which irritated him. He was supposed to be the strong one here, but so far, he'd done most of the crying. After a few moments, Art seemed to calm down and Paul felt it was OK to speak again.

“If you give it your approval, it will be out in three months,” Paul said. Art quickly sat back up.

“Really?” he asked. “But we never finished it.”

“I had Roy go through everything. He meticulously sampled from every piece of audio we ever made. He knows our voices like no other, and he knows your standards. He assured me that you’ll be happy with how it turned out,” Paul explained.

Art sniffled, then grasped for the CD. Shaking, he pulled it out of its case. “Well then, we better listen to it, I guess,” he said before slotting it into the player.

They both leaned back in their seats and listened as Citizen of the Planet came on. Art had been skeptical, but Paul was right. Roy had worked his magic, and it was perfect. It was absolutely perfect. They stayed silent as each song played, and it wasn’t long before both were convinced that it was their best work out of all of their albums.

Snow started to fall as they listened. Without a word, Paul reached into the backseat and pulled two ice cold beers out of a cooler. He handed one to Art, who twisted off the top and took a sip. They both knew that neither of them would be driving. A moment later, a mischievous smile spread across Art’s face and he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a joint and lit it up, offering it to Paul.

Paul laughed lightly. He grinned and took it from Art, took a long drag and then passed it back. Art took a drag off it, and then with his exhale, breathily crooned, “Perfect.” They both laughed together.

After a while, the car was hazy with smoke, the two of them had mellowed out significantly and the last song on the album finished playing. The CD ejected itself and Art reached down to pull it out. He looked at it closely and ran his fingers across the words printed on it.

“Thank you, Paul,” he said. His emotions had him tripping over words. “I’m so glad...I’m...I’m just so glad. I’m glad we have this to give to the world.”

“So you like it?” Paul asked, his eyes looking to Art expectantly. “Do you give it your approval?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Art said. “Roy gets one third of the profits, though.”

“How about all the profits?” Paul asked.

“Done,” Art replied without a moment’s hesitation. Paul handed him a contract listing out the terms. Indeed, he did have all profits going to Roy Halee. Art happily signed it and Paul carefully slid it into a black portfolio.

“So now what?” Art asked as he reverently placed the finished CD back in the glovebox. Paul gestured toward the other music. “Pick out whatever you like. There’s a little more business yet to do,” he said.

Art removed the Everly Brothers CD from its case and slid it in, then turned to Paul, who had just pulled a black hinged-lid box out of his pocket.

“Is...that it?” Art asked. Paul nodded grimly. He opened the lid and pulled out two vials with clear liquid in them. He placed them side-by-side on the dash of the car. Both of them stared at the vials, both lost in thought. Then Art took an abrupt deep breath.

“Well, then,” he said. “I suppose we better keep going before someone figures out where we are.”

Paul handed him a notebook and a pen. “For writing letters,” he explained. He hummed along with the Everly Brothers for a moment, stared at his own notebook, and then dug into writing. Soon Art was writing, too. And then both were humming. And then singing. In harmony, even--almost consciously, as if their voices knew what to do without them thinking about it. Then Bye Bye Love came on, and both of them faltered. A tear fell onto Art’s page.

“Paul,” he dared to ask. “Did you miss me?”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I did. Every day,” he responded.

“I missed you,” Art said weakly.

“I know,” replied Paul.

“Why did we waste so much time? Why did we let it go this long?” Art asked, the words spilling out rapidly.

“Artie, I would rather miss you than hate you. And you know what it’s like when we’re together,” Paul said sadly.

Art sighed. “But why does it have to be that way?” he asked.

It was Paul’s turn to sigh. “You know why,” he said.

Art looked down at what he was writing. “How are your letters going?” he asked, changing the subject.

“They are tough,” Paul responded. “Tougher than I thought.”

“Yes, I agree,” Art said.

“The kids are the hardest,” Paul remarked. “Explaining why...it’s not easy. They don’t understand the world we grew up in. They don’t see it as a big deal.”

Art groaned. “Maybe yours don’t. My kids...well, the oldest wants to make America great again.”

Paul was quiet for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say. Finally he said the only thing he could think of. “Fuck that,” he replied.

Art smiled and gripped his pen tighter. “As my mother would have said, we’ll make this a teachable moment,” he quipped. Paul smiled and nodded approvingly.

They both wrote for a while as the Everly Brothers sang on. Without a word, Paul reached to the cooler and pulled out two more beers for them. 

“Did you see it?” Paul asked out of nowhere. “Did you see what they had? Was any of it true?”

Art took a sip of his beer and wavered, hesitating. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I saw it. They had a picture.”

“Hmm,” Paul mused before asking, “Did they take it seriously, or did they make fun of it?”

“I only saw one station before I turned it off,” Art said. “It was more sensational than anything. You can imagine how it went. ‘Simon and Garfunkel’s gay love affair! We’re breaking the sound of silence with an exclusive photo,” he added with a mocking voice.

Paul groaned out loud, but that was all the response Art got. Rather than saying more, Paul took a sizeable drink from his beer bottle and went back to writing.

“The photo…” Art began.

“What?” Paul asked, glancing at him.

“It’s just that...well, never mind,” Art said.

Paul eyed Art carefully, then for once in his life, didn’t doggedly drag something out of Art after hearing the words “never mind.” Instead, he suddenly announced, “I’m done.” Art looked over and saw that Paul had several pages of his notebook filled up.

“Oh, you’re fast,” Art said. “And you had more to write than I did.” Paul shrugged. 

“I more or less knew what I wanted to say,” he said flippantly.

Art bit his lip and looked his page over. He knew he would never be able to say everything he wanted to say on a small pad of paper. Reluctantly, he closed his notebook and handed it back to Paul, who then added it to his and slipped it into the black portfolio with the contract. The Everly Brothers finished, so Art replaced them with James Taylor.

“I must say, you have excellent taste in music, Paul,” Art said jokingly. 

“Yeah, well tell that to my kids,” Paul joked back. “Sixteen Grammys, but apparently I don't know anything about music, because I don't listen to Taylor Swift.”

“Oh, kids are great,” Art said. “It's amazing how invincible and right they think they are all the time. We weren't that way, were we?”

Paul thought for a second and smiled. “My dad never missed a chance to let me know when I wasn't right,” he said. Then with a twinkle in his eye, he added, “I never once believed him, though.”

“If I believed everything your dad told me,” Art said, “I'd have done this long ago.”

Paul half smiled at that. “I wonder what he would think of this news getting out,” he said in a quiet tone.

“Don't you think he knew all along?” Art asked. “As much as he disliked me?”

Paul appeared thoughtful. “He didn't dislike you. I mean, at the beginning at least, he didn't like you, but I think he eventually came around.”

“If you say so, Paul,” Art said, taking a drink and gazing out the window. “I still remember when he drove us to Hartford for that show and he made us wear that awful-smelling hair cream. It was like girl repellent.”

Paul laughed. “I think he did that on purpose,” he said. “I couldn't get near a single chick after that show.”

“It didn't stop us from making out with each other when we got back to the hotel, though,” Art said with a smirk.

“I don't think anything could have stopped us,” Paul replied. “Two horny teenage boys with the hots for each other? They could have doused us in liver gravy and I'd still be humping your leg.”

They laughed, then Art quipped, “Careful, Paul. You're making me hungry. And horny.”

They both giggled like they were kids again.

“Oh my gosh, this is fun,” Art said. “We should do this more often.”

“What, kill ourselves?” Paul said, jokingly. Art's smile suddenly went away. Neither of them spoke for a while as James Taylor crooned in the background.

“Fuck, Paul. Is it really so bad?” Art asked thoughtfully, breaking the silence. “Is it really so bad if the world knows about us?”

Paul’s face twisted unpleasantly and he suddenly looked his age. He stared out the driver’s side window. “The world can be so cruel. You know that,” he said. “And I don’t want to be around to see how low that cruelty can go. I don’t want to get hate letters and death threats. I don’t want to see us made into a joke on TV. I don’t want to see my family suffer because of me. And...and I certainly don’t want to be around when everyone examines my songs and rips them apart, looking for signs of you in them.” He rested his head against the cold window and looked out. The snow was reflected in his eyes--falling, tumbling snowflakes disappearing into those bottomless pupils.

“Well,” Art said. “It could be a teachable moment.”

Paul turned and looked at him, his face now forlorn and sagging. He ignored Art’s joke. “I’m too old for that, Artie. And you are too.”

Art looked away. He couldn't stand the look that Paul was giving him now. He anxiously pulled at a loose thread on his jeans and ran his hand through hair that was no longer there.

“Was...was I in any of your songs? Other than the two on Bridge?” Art dared to ask. He was startled when Paul’s hand reached over, covered his anxious one and held it still.

“Only the love songs,” Paul assured.

Art’s brow wrinkled in confusion and he looked at Paul to see if he was joking. There was no half smile there. He was being sincere.

“What do you mean?” Art whispered. Paul was still holding his hand.

“I...you mean you don’t know?” Paul stammered. Art shook his head no, much to Paul’s surprise and dismay.

“It never dawned on me that you’d never figured it out,” he said, squeezing Art’s hand tighter. “I thought I left more than enough clues.” He blinked rapidly and tried to keep himself together.

“I don’t understand, Paul.”

Paul took a deep breath. “Art, don’t you see? You were always there, right from the beginning. You were ‘The Girl For Me,’ the schoolgirl in the second row. It was your shadow that touched my shadow’s hand. You were the one I left Wednesday morning at 3 a.m. and you were the home I was ‘Homeward Bound’ to. You were my baby, my lover, my ‘Cecelia.’ It was you my heart yearned for. All our personal belongings were intertwined. You were always there, right up to Stranger to Stranger. Always.”

Art's head, finally absorbing this information for the first time, felt like it was spinning in circles. “What?” he asked. “Really? Not Carrie? Edie? It was me?”

Paul squeezed his hand again. “No matter what I told others or the press, it was always you. Always. Even when it was Kathy I was supposed to be singing to.”

Art trembled. “You mean, this whole time, you were singing to me?”

Paul leaned over and rested his head on Art’s shoulder. “Yes. My whole career. I thought you knew. Everything about it was a love song, even the tough parts.”

Art suddenly sat forward and grasped Paul’s shoulder. “Paul, listen to me, I don’t want to die,” he said. “I want to live with this...this glorious knowledge singing in my heart. Let’s throw those vials of poison out and go back to our families and face the world. We’ll do it together. We’ll be together. Finally. No more closets. Paul and Art until the end of our days.”

Paul looked at Art sadly. He shook his head. “But you know how quickly things deteriorate between us. How quickly things go wrong.”

Art snorted. “Don’t you know why that is?” he said.

Before Paul could say anything, Art launched into an answer--something he had wanted to say for a long time.

“You knew I was angry, but couldn’t you see why? I was angry that I couldn’t love you like I wanted to. Like I needed to. I was angry that I couldn’t hold your hand, kiss you on stage or make love to you without sneaking around in the dark. It was absolute torture being with you and not being able to hold you or call you baby. I was angry and in the end, I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair, but that’s what happened. And I’m sure the same was true of you too, even if you didn’t realize it. Add egos into it, and we just ended up hurting each other over and over,” Art said, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

Paul was quiet for a moment, then he twisted his fingers together and smiled to himself. Tentatively, he hummed the melody from Hearts and Bones, then he transitioned to lyrics. “And tell me why…”

Art’s eyes sparkled and he picked up the cue. “Why won’t you love me for who I am, where I am?” he sang.

Paul reached over and kissed Art tenderly on the forehead. “Because that’s not the way the world is, baby,” he sang. “This is how I love you baby. This is how I love you, baby.” 

Art blinked back some tears as Paul hummed out a few more bars of melody. Paul had known all along, and he'd put it in a song. This was the way the world was, and this was how he loved him. Was. But what about now?

“Paul, it’s 2019,” Art said with urgency in his voice. “The world is different. We can be together. Please, we don’t have to die.”

With that, Paul pulled away and put his head in his hands. Then slowly and carefully, he reached to the dash, clutched a vial and held it up in front of Art.

“Art, I have to tell you something,” he said, sounding so very tired. “This isn't poison in the vials. It's just saline.”

With that news, Art let out a big sigh and sunk backward in his seat.

“Oh Paul, thank God. I'm so relieved,” he said. “I really thought you were going to want to go through with it. I couldn’t bear the thought of Kim going through what I did with Laurie.”

He expected Paul to say something, anything, to lighten the mood in some way. Instead, Paul just slumped forward over the steering wheel. His shoulders began to shake, and he began to weep. Art’s heart pounded and when he put his hand on his friend’s back, Paul turned around and looked at him with red, tired eyes.

“Artie, the poison was in the last beer we drank. It's only a matter of time now.”

Art’s mouth fell open. He picked up his bottle and looked into it as he twirled the bottom around. It was empty.

“Oh,” he said.

“I...I thought it might be a gentler way to go. Well...no, that’s bullshit. I knew you would back out. I might have too, if I had to drink poison from a vial like that,” Paul said flatly. “This seemed easier. Trust me, it’s better if we’re not around for the aftermath of our love affair getting out. It really is.”

Art was quiet for an excruciatingly long time, then he said, “Well, I guess I can still say I always keep my promises.”

They watched the snow continue to fall. The sun was getting lower and the light had turned dim.

“It's ok,” Art finally said. “I lived a good life. I left a good legacy. I made good with my best friend. It… it will be ok.”

Paul didn't say anything. His hands were wrapped around the steering wheel out of habit.

“Kim is a young, strong woman, and she has the boys. They're both almost grown now. And we always knew I'd go first,” he mused. “It will be ok,” Art repeated, as if he were trying to convince himself.

Paul quietly opened his black portfolio and pulled some papers out. “I did something,” Paul said, hesitating. Art looked to him with moist eyes.

“You know how I said earlier, how all those songs were really about you?” Paul asked. Art nodded.

“I...I made a list of every song that you helped write, inspired or that was based off of something you wrote or told me,” Paul explained. “And I legally added your name to the songwriting credit.”

Art's eyes went wide. He'd never expected this, not even in his wildest dreams. Paul went on. 

“I've had my accountants put money into a separate account for decades. It has been willed as a trust to your family, and should cover all the retroactive royalties owed,” he said. “And going forward, they will get half of any royalties of every song on this list. I've worked it all out with my lawyers, and multiple people have a copy of this will. I dropped one in the mail to Kim before I got here, too.”

Art was speechless. Paul handed him the list. Practically everything was there, from The Sound of Silence on down. 

“You don’t have to worry. Your family will be taken care of,” Paul added. 

Art struggled to find words. He was by no means in any danger of going broke, but he had worried how his young family would fare several years down the road. Now they would be set for the rest of their lives. And the best part? There was his name alongside Paul's on so many classic songs. It was a truly beautiful gift.

“I…” Art stammered. Then he paused. With surprise in his voice, he said, “Oh. Oh my God, I can't feel my legs.”

Paul nodded knowingly. “It won't be long now,” he said.

Art swallowed his fear and forced himself to focus on Paul. “Thank you for this,” he said, grasping Paul's hand. “Thank you. It means so much.”

Paul didn't respond. He didn't need to. It all went unspoken. Art leaned over and kissed him sweetly on the lips. “I had to do that one last time,” he whispered.

Paul smiled back to him. “I really do love you. I wish you had heard it in my songs. I guess that’ll teach me to be so subtle.”

Art smiled back at Paul. He looked lighter, like a burden had been lifted off of him. 

“You know, I always loved you, no matter what,” Art replied. “Ever since we were boys, Paul Simon, I knew your soul was the same as mine. I knew we'd meet the end together.”

Paul's eyes were cast downward. He said nothing, but instead leaned his seat as far back as it would go for comfort’s sake, and Art did the same. They laid there, staring at the ceiling. Their hands found each other and both held on tight.

“Just tell me one thing, Paul. Please?” Art asked.

Paul shifted uncomfortably. “What?” he asked.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what? Slip you the poison?”

“No. I want to know why you gave our photo to the press.”

Paul's sad smile faded into an unhappy frown. “Why do you think it was me?”

“We both know that only two copies of that photo were ever made, and we each had one,” Art said quietly.

Paul’s breath quickened. “So why do you assume it was my copy that leaked? Maybe your housekeeper stole yours, or maybe it happened to get copied by someone somewhere along the way.”

Art was quiet for a moment, then suddenly spoke up again. “Hey, do you remember when we had those made?” he said, his tone warm.

“Mmmmmm,” Paul hummed. “We took the train all the way out to that one neighborhood, I forget which one. It was someplace where we could find a film store that would look the other way while developing a picture of two boys kissing.”

Art chuckled to himself. “And then a week later, we went back, because we were so pleased with how it came out, that we had to have a copy for each of us.”

“Oh! That’s right!” Paul said. “I forgot!”

“You kept the original,” Art said. “And I got the duplicate. Yours had the date on the white border and mine didn’t.”

“Oh,” Paul said. He realized then that he had made a mistake.

“The copy they showed on TV had the date. And it was pristine, which makes me think it never left your possession. I don’t think you would have let it. So...tell me, why did you do it?”

“Maybe Edie…” Paul began to counter, but Art interrupted him. 

“No, Paul. Please don’t lie to me. Not now. Let’s be real. Photo aside, you wouldn’t have had time to lace two beers with poison and chill them in time to meet me here. Your car in storage should have been dusty, and not perfectly detailed and clean. The date on all of that paperwork you had me do was just yesterday. The label for the new CD was clearly professionally printed, but it talked about us in the past tense--I doubt you would have had time to have that professionally printed, what with all the beer you had to poison and distance you had to drive,” Art said. He paused. “Do I need to go on?”

Paul pressed his lips together tightly. A shadow had fallen over his face. Without a word, he sat up, reached for the black portfolio and pulled out the picture in question. He gazed at it thoughtfully.

“My mind is starting to go, Artie,” he said. “I’m forgetting things.”

Art’s heart sunk. “Oh, Paul,” he said, then let Paul continue.

“I needed to make things right, to see you, before it was too late,” Paul continued. “I...I’m terrified that I will forget you. I can’t bear the thought of that.”

“Paul, you could have just called, you know,” Art said in a deadpan voice.

Just then, Paul groaned in pain and clutched his stomach. His small legs dangled in the air.

“It’s happening,” Paul said, gasping for breath.

“I know,” Art said. He had been enduring severe stomach cramps for several minutes now.

“Fuck, if I had known how painful this would be, I would have just shot myself,” Paul said.

Art realized his vision was starting to go blurry, and he wasn’t sure if it was more tears or the poison taking effect. “Just tell me why you needed to kill both of us, Paul,” Art blurted out. “I’m not mad. I’m ready to go. But I need a good reason.”

Paul whimpered in agony, and Art wasn’t sure if it was because of the poison or being put on the spot. Finally, in a weak voice, Paul answered.

“Because I’m scared, Artie. I’m so fucking afraid of going alone,” he said, turning to his friend. Paul’s body shook with sobs and convulsions. “I needed you. I needed my best friend, the person who has always given me courage, here by my side.”

Paul wailed. He cried. “I know it’s selfish,” he said. “And I’m so, so sorry.”

Art sighed a long sigh, that turned out to be difficult to recover from. Breathing was getting harder.

“It’s OK,” Art said. “It’s...OK. I am with you. Don’t be afraid.”

That was all he needed to say, and that’s all Paul needed to hear. Paul nodded, and his tears subsided. He still had the picture in his hand. He reached up to the roof of the car and slid it into a gap between the dome light and the fabric ceiling, so that they could both gaze at it. Then Paul’s arm fell limply to his chest.

“I’m getting weak, Artie,” Paul said.

“Me too,” Art replied. “It’s harder to talk. I...I think it’s time to say goodbye.”

Paul sniffled loudly. His face was soaked with tears. He closed his eyes and gathered his strength.

“I love you, Artie. Goodbye. I will see you on the other side.”

“I love you too, Paul. Goodbye for now.”

Art reached for Paul’s hand and found it. “Let’s squeeze each other’s hands now and then, for as long as we can,” he said. Then he paused to breathe. “Then we’ll know that the other is still there.”

“OK,” Paul said.

Paul turned his head. He could see Artie. Artie returned his look and smiled reassuringly. Everything was going to be OK. Paul wasn’t afraid anymore, and he gratefully squeezed Art’s hand. He surely had the best, most generous friend anyone could ever ask for.

Art sleepily closed his eyes, just for a moment. He couldn’t help himself. When he opened them again, everything was cloudy. He blinked a few times, and when his vision gradually cleared, he could see Paul--but somehow Paul looked younger. He looked like he did that special night in Central Park. He was thin and tanned and those eyes were darker than ever. Art was in awe. He squeezed Paul’s hand, and wondered if he knew how handsome he was.

Slowly, Paul’s breathing became raspy and labored. He was struggling. His mouth was so dry, and he desperately tried to wet his lips by licking them. It was no use. He could see Art looking at him with love shining in his eyes. For a moment, he regretted putting out that bright light. He took his turn and squeezed Art’s hand again. His intense pain was gradually starting to fade away to numbness.

Now Art closed his eyes again--a slow blink. When he opened them, Paul looked just like he did in the 60s. He looked like the fresh-faced young man on the cover of Wednesday Morning 3 AM. This was the Paul who he’d known best. This was the Paul he got high with. This was the Paul he became famous with. Oh, how he loved that mischievous look in Paul’s eyes. They had the world by the tail, and Art gave Paul’s hand a squeeze.

Paul’s hand was trembling now, but he felt Art’s grip tighten. Paul’s mouth hung open slightly, but he didn’t have the strength to close it. He idly wondered who would find them. Probably his brother. He felt bad about that, but surely he’d understand. What would he think of the two old men holding hands? Oh yes, Art’s hand. He squeezed it.

Art let his eyes shut, but now found it hard to open them again. When he finally did, he saw Paul once more. Now Paul looked like the youthful teenage boy that Art had fallen in love with. He was beautiful...so beautiful. Despite Paul’s trickery, Art knew he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than right there next to his love, his friend. Again, he squeezed Paul’s hand.

Weakness was overtaking Paul. He turned his eyes to the ceiling, where the two boys were captured in a moment of love, a youth’s kiss. Those two had their whole lives ahead of them--a roller coaster ride of pain and happiness. Life was so much more innocent back then. Just look at their smooth skin, their lanky teenage bodies. The picture began to blur. His eyes could no longer focus. Breath continued to go in and out of his nose and he had enough strength and presence of mind to squeeze Art’s hand again.

Art couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and they slid closed. Still, he felt Paul squeeze his hand, albeit weakly. It was getting so cold. He looked forward to seeing Paul again, in whatever afterlife they were bound for. Maybe they would have to wait in line like Paul’s song. He squeezed Paul’s hand and waited. After what felt like several minutes, Art squeezed again. There was no squeeze back.

Tears escaped from Art’s eyes, and he willed them open one more time. He could see Paul. The poison had worked faster in the smaller man’s body. Paul’s eyes were open, blank and empty. His lips were blue. Art’s world was empty. Paul was dead.

He felt such a stab of pain then. He swallowed one last time, closed his eyes and waited anxiously for his turn. It would come soon.

\---

Ed’s stomach churned when he got that first text. Then another. And another. Some wanted to know if he knew his brother had actually had a gay affair with Art Garfunkel. Some expressed their sympathies, as if something tragic had happened with this news getting out. Others were not so sympathetic. 

He ran from his backyard to the house, alerted his wife and they got in the SUV and drove over to Paul and Edie’s as fast as they could. When Ed burst into the house, he startled Edie. 

“Where is Paul?” Ed said, with urgency in his voice. 

“He’s in his studio, as always,” Edie said with a slightly bitter edge to her voice. But then she saw their faces and knew something was wrong. Her phone had been off. She didn’t know.

“Please stay here with Edie,” Ed quietly said to his wife. “I’m going down to the studio.” He nearly ran out to his car, then raced down the hill to the studio.

Ed jumped out of his car, crossed the icy concrete and entered in the door code at the entrance. He dashed in. A noise was coming from the recording area, so that's where he looked first, but no one was around. There was Paul’s phone, however, buzzing away on the floor. “Fuck,” Ed muttered to himself. Normally, Paul would never have left that behind.

He ducked his head into every room and every door he could find, but didn’t find Paul. Finally, at the end of the hall, he got to Paul’s office and saw that the light was still on. He held his breath and entered the room. Paul wasn’t there, but one of his platinum records that had been mounted on the wall had been removed to reveal a hidden wall safe.

Discouraged by this sign, Ed went to the back door. He saw tracks in the snow that led down to an outbuilding at the back of the estate. He followed them as fast as he could go, but when he got there, he saw tire tracks extending out from the garage bay. They led to the back driveway. His brother was gone.

Ed’s eyes teared up for the first time, then. He had a bad feeling, and that's when a long-forgotten memory began to resurface.

\---

Ed’s heart caught in his throat as the garage door suddenly rolled up. He’d gone down to the garage to sneak a peek at a girly magazine he’d found that morning in Dad’s toolbox. Oh, it was a real treat--a good find, with some busty beauties. He hadn’t been looking at it long before the door had suddenly rolled up. In a flash, he stuffed it into his shirt and dashed behind a stack of boxes, hoping he hadn’t been seen.

Much to his relief, it was his brother Paul’s car and not Dad’s. But still, he stayed hidden. He didn’t need to get caught with Dad’s magazine--Paul would never stop giving him shit if he saw that. When Paul and his friend Art opened the doors of the car and got out, the smell of weed wafted over to where Ed was hidden. So they’d been smoking in the car over in the alley again. Paul hadn’t even been home from London for a whole day before the two of them had gone back to their old tricks. 

Ed peered between the boxes to get a look. Art had closed the garage door, and then much to Ed’s surprise, he pressed Paul up against the side of the car with his body. 

“Careful,” Paul whispered to Art. “You’ll tickle me and I’ll laugh and give us away.”

“What if I want to get caught?” Art teased back. “Then I can tell the whole world how much I love you.”

Paul giggled. “Something tells me the world isn’t ready for that yet,” he said.

Ed didn’t immediately process what had just been said, but when he saw Art lean down and kiss his brother passionately, he figured out what was going on rather quickly. He’d never seen such a long, romantic and sexually-charged kiss before, much less between two boys. The mere sight made him lightheaded and confused.

When Art finally backed away from their kiss, Ed could see a wide, genuine smile across Paul’s face. Even before his brother had left for London, it had been a long time since he’d seen Paul smile. Ed was just so surprised to see that smile, he nearly caught himself smiling, but then he heard speaking again.

“Listen, babe, we need to talk about something,” Paul said as he looped his arms around Art’s neck. Art looked to him expectantly.

“Do you remember when we were kids and we had our big hit, and how hard it was to hide...this...after we got really famous?” Paul said, gesturing between the two of them.

“Yeah, we almost got caught by fans a couple times,” Art said.

“It’s going to be harder now,” Paul stated. Art nodded sadly and tenderly stroked Paul’s shoulder. Ed knew Paul was referring to the sudden fame they were enjoying due to the resurgence of their previously-failed record. Producers had added an electric backing track to The Sound of Silence without their knowledge, and it had quickly shot to number one. With circumstances being what they were, as much as he loved England, Paul had been forced to come back home so that they could produce a follow-up album. 

“Do you think we’ll be famous?” Art asked Paul as a wrinkle appeared in his brow. Paul snorted lightly through his nose. “We already are,” he said. “Do you know how many times I got stopped in the airport? At least seven.”

Art’s face darkened a little bit. “Paul,” he said quietly and earnestly. “We really can’t afford to get caught.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to have to be very careful,” Art said.

“Yes, we will,” Paul replied. They were both quiet and lost in thought for a moment, then Paul leaned his forehead against Art’s chest.

“Artie,” he said in a fragile voice. “What happens if we do get caught? Really?”

Art cleared his throat before lovingly resting his hands on Paul’s shoulders. “It’s against the law.”

“I know that,” Paul said impatiently. “But...what really happens to us?”

“Prison at worst,” Art said grimly. “But more likely detention of some kind. I knew a kid once who got all his college financial aid taken away and he was kicked out of his school. And, of course, we would lose our recording contract. And I don’t know about your family, but mine would probably disown me.”

“That’s all awful enough,” Paul said, “But we’re famous now. What if it gets out in public? What if everyone finds out?”

Art looked down. He either didn’t know how to answer that question, or he didn’t want to.

“It would all be over, wouldn’t it?” Paul said tentatively. “Not just the recording contract and school, but our entire lives. And it would all be out in public. People would threaten our lives, Artie. They would hurt us. Our families would suffer because of us. And the more famous we get, the more impossible it would be to escape whatever happens.”

Art took in a deep breath, then he suddenly hugged Paul tight. “Paul, I can’t just stop. I can’t stop loving you. I would die if I couldn’t love you,” he said with a pained voice. “And I just got you back from England, too. Please don’t break us up. I couldn’t bear it.”

Paul sniffled back a tear. “I could never stop, either,” he said. He hugged Art back. Ed watched all this, and although he had initially felt disgust for what he was seeing and hearing, the realization of the trap his brother was in made him feel so very sad.

When Paul pulled away from Art, he looked him in the eye and very tentatively said, “Artie? What if we just keep going? And if we get caught…”

“What Paul?” Art asked.

Paul licked his lips. “What if we just end it all? You and me, together? Romeo and Juliet style.”

“How romantic,” Art said with a snort. Then he paused before asking, “Are you serious? You’d kill yourself?”

“There wouldn’t be much left for us in this life,” Paul said sadly. Art nodded his agreement, swallowing hard. “Yes, you’re right,” he said.

“Art, would you go with me?” Paul asked as his voice cracked and his eyes filled with moisture. Smiling, Art wiped away a runaway tear before responding, “I would follow you anywhere.”

“OK, promise me, if the news ever gets out and we aren’t together, we’ll meet at our spot,” Paul said. “We’ll drink poison before the world can turn on us.”

Art dropped a light kiss on Paul’s lips. “I promise,” he said. “And I always keep my promises.”

\---

Ed had brushed off what he’d overheard as a prank, or maybe a really strange joke. Art and Paul, if they were together, hid it very well over the years. Ed never would have suspected a thing. Over time, the memory of that night faded away to nothing. 

And then came today, all the way into the future in 2019, and there was proof. It was right there on the news and all over the internet, and the memories came flooding back.

He quickly pulled out his phone and dialed his wife. “Honey? Are you still with Edie?” he asked. “Why don’t you step into the other room for a second?”

He waited a moment. “Listen, Paul's not here,” he told her. “I think he might have gone to do something, uh...rash. Would you please take care of Edie? Break it to her gently? And call the kids, see if they can come home. I’m going out to look for him.”

Soon he was in his SUV, speeding toward...well, he didn’t know where. After all these years, would Paul still try to meet Art? They hadn’t spoken in so long, it seemed unlikely. But the sudden disappearance of his brother was unsettling. Really, anything was possible. He headed toward the local village and searched the side streets for the old beater truck that was stored in the gardening shed, but he found nothing. 

Using his hands-free setting on his phone, he called his wife again. She told him that Art’s wife had just called and Art was missing as well. Damn it. Ed immediately told her to call the police, then he sighed and pointed his vehicle toward New York City. Where would he even start to look? Where would Paul and Art meet? 

Travel turned out to be something of a challenge, with the snow falling harder than it had before. It was getting dangerously cold, too, with windchills well into the negatives. Ed knew he had to find them fast. When he got to the city, the first place he headed to was Queens. He went to his old house and checked in on the couple that lived there now. They hadn’t seen Paul or Art. Neither had the people who now lived in Art’s house. He hadn’t really expected to find them at either place, but it was a starting point.

Ed then drove circles around PS 164 and Forest Hills High School. There was some kind of large sports tournament happening at the high school, so it didn’t seem likely that they would be there. He drove to the old ball fields, where he had to park his car. He walked one loop around the park, but it was bitterly cold, the snow was blowing and it was getting dark, so he had to give up. Discouraged, he did a cursory search from his car in Flushing Meadows Park, but driving on the residential streets was getting to be a challenge.

Ed called his wife again. By now, a large group of friends and family were at Paul and Edie’s house, hoping to help and comfort. It would have been hard enough for Edie if the news had broken and Paul had stayed. She had always suspected there was a history with Art, but nothing as extensive as it seemed it actually was. And now he was gone, and she was left alone with this new knowledge. Thank God for her kids. They were being the strong ones right now.

Edie couldn’t think of anywhere they might go. She’d already told the police where Paul liked to go when he needed solitude. They had also checked his business office. Art’s wife had suggested The Cloisters museum/park, but nothing turned up there, either. Ed didn’t dare tell his wife about his memory that had been stirred up, about the suicide pact. Everyone was thinking it already. Everyone was fearing it. There was no need to add to the speculation.

With the weather worsening, his wife pleaded with him to find a place to stay for the night and try again in the morning. No travel was advised, and it would have been hard enough to find them in the dark, much less in blizzard conditions. When she hung up, Ed felt a loneliness he never had before. It haunted him.

He drove to a local diner that had been a favorite growing up. It was a dive, but a comforting dive. He drank coffee and pushed food around his plate. Occasionally, his brother’s face would appear on the TV across the restaurant, and people would point at it and talk. The news was still reporting on the affair. It hadn’t gotten out that Paul and Art were missing yet. Ed was still glad that with age, he and his brother no longer looked like twins. Still, just seeing that picture on the screen made him tear up.

He looked at the maps on his phone. Where could they be? He plotted out a handful of places, but nothing felt like a sure thing. Paul’s son Harper called. He was just getting ready to fly back from the West Coast. 

“Are you sure they didn’t hop on a plane and fly somewhere?” Harper ventured to ask. “They were both so fond of England. Or maybe they went somewhere that they aren’t as famous.” 

Ed had to admit that was plausible. Harper had to board his plane, so Ed let him go. He texted the lead to his wife, and she passed it on to the police, who would investigate. The diner quieted down and Ed took refuge there while he looked out the window. Paul, he wondered, where are you? He nursed a cup of coffee and watched the snow fall. He didn’t want to just give up and snuggle into a warm hotel bed while his brother was still out there. 

Eventually he looked at his watch and saw it was 11 p.m. There hadn’t been any updates from his wife for a while and his phone was almost out of battery, so he was going to have to decide what to do soon. Then, a miracle. One moment it was a blizzard raging outside the window, and the next it was a still winter night, the snow sparkling under the street lights. He eagerly got up to pay his bill. Maybe he had time to search the Queens College area yet.

He went to the register to pay, thanked the waitress for her patience and left her a big tip. Taking one last glance at the TV and seeing his brother’s face, he zipped his coat up to leave.

A group of teenagers crowded their way into the diner before Ed could leave, so he stepped aside and let them in. They were there for late night munchies. Ed smiled to himself. He and Paul had done that a few times. As they passed by him, he detected the familiar scent of marijuana on them. Funny how the more things change, the more things stay the same. Teenagers will be teenagers, he figured. He remembered how Paul would sneak out of the house in high school to go smoke with Art in the alley. When they were older, they would take the car.

Ed felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He knew where they were. He pushed past the teenagers and ran to his car. With tears in his eyes, he drove back to their old neighborhood. Which alley was it again? Where would they be? He was incredibly frustrated with himself for not thinking about it earlier.

The roads hadn’t been plowed yet and there were at least two inches of snow. He carefully made his way to Jewel Avenue and then peered down each alley, trying to remember which one it was, trying to see what looked familiar. Finally, he found one that just looked right. Tentatively, he turned his car into it and made his way through the snow.

There were several parked cars, all covered in snow. Ed was just about to give up and try a different alley, when he noticed that one of the cars had a familiar silhouette. And sure enough, he could see the outline of the Alpine logo through the snow. This was an extremely unusual car to find in Queens. He swallowed his fear, parked his SUV and got out. He almost burst into tears then. This is exactly the kind of situation he would have called Paul to help him out with, but he couldn’t do that now.

He approached the car. He could tell it hadn’t moved for a while. It was surrounded by a few drifts and was covered in a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow. It was quiet in the alley, although Ed could hear was his heart beating louder than usual. He stepped up to the driver’s side window and with his glove, brushed away some of the snow. His heart seized when he saw a pant leg. He brushed away the rest and there was his brother.

Ed peered inside. He could see Art in the passenger side. He looked like he could be sleeping, if it wasn’t for the fine sheen of frost on his skin. Paul’s eyes, however, were wide open. Tiny ice crystals clouded their darkness. There was no question. They were both dead. Ed fell to his knees and collapsed against the car door, crying. He was too late. He tried not to blame himself, but he’d known this was possible. He took one more peek into the car and saw that Paul and Art’s hands were frozen together in an embrace. It seemed right somehow, yet it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they felt like they didn’t belong in this world anymore. It wasn’t fair that they thought they needed to leave. What kind of a world hates people because of who they love?

Ed took his coat off and used it to cover the window on Paul’s side, then went back to his car to call his wife. Paul and Art’s story--an epic, long and contentious relationship, often played out on the public stage, had turned out to be far more loving than anyone would have guessed. But now it was over.


End file.
